I have hunted up the finest Bath I could
find, gilt-edged and stamped, whereon to inscribe my humble
acknowledgement of your highly flattering letter of the 29th Dec:
-- It really amazed me that you should find any satisfaction in
that book. It is true that some men have said they were
pleased with it, but you are the only woman -- for as a
general thing, women have small taste for the sea. But, then,
since you, with your spiritualizing nature, see more things than
other people, and by the same process, refine all you see, so
that they are not the same things that other people see, but
things which while you think you but humbly discover them, you do
in fact create them for yourself -- Therefore, upon the whole, I
do not so much marvel at your expressions concerning Moby Dick.
At any rate, your allusion for example to the "Spirit Spout"
first showed to me that there was a subtile significance in that
thing -- but I did not, in that case, mean it. I had
some vague idea while writing it, that the whole book was
susceptible of an allegoric construction, & also that
parts of it were -- but the speciality of many of the
particular subordinate allegories, were first revealed to me,
after reading Mr Hawthorne's letter, which, without citing any
particular examples, yet intimated the part-&-parcel
allegoricalness of the whole. But, My Dear Lady, I shall not
again send you a bowl of salt water. The next chalice I shall
commend, will be a rural bowl of milk.

And now, how are you in West Newton? Are all domestic affairs
regulated? Is Miss Una content? and Master Julien satisfied with
the landscape in general? And does Mr Hawthorne continue his
series of calls upon all his neighbors within a radius of ten
miles? Shall I send him ten packs of visiting cards? And a box of
kid gloves? and the latest style of Parisian handkerchief? -- He
goes into society too much altogether -- seven evenings out, a
week, should content any reasonable man.

Now, Madam, had you not said anything about Moby Dick, & had Mr
Hawthorne been equally silent, then had I said perhaps, something
to both of you about another Wonder-(full) Book. But as it is, I
must be silent. How is it, that while all of us human beings are
so entirely disembarrased in censuring a person; that so soon as
we would praise, then we begin to feel awkward? I never blush
after denouncing a man: but I grow scarlet, after eulogizing him.
And yet this is all wrong; and yet we can't help it; and so we
see how true was that musical sentence of the poet when he
sang --

"We can't help ourselves"

For tho' we know what we ought to be; & what it would be very
sweet & beautiful to be; yet we can't be it. That is most sad,
too. Life is a long Dardenelles, My Dear Madam, the shores
whereof are bright with flowers, which we want to pluck, but the
bank is too high; & so we float on & on, hoping to come to a
landing-place at last -- but swoop! we launch into the great sea!
Yet the geographers say, even then we must not despair, because
across the great sea, however desolate & vacant it may look, lie
all Persia & the delicious lands roundabout Damascus.

So wishing you a pleasant voyage at last to that sweet & far
countree --

Beleive Me Earnestly Thine--

Herman Melville

I forgot to say, that your letter was sent to me from Pittsfield
-- which delayed it.

My sister Augusta begs me to send her sincerest regards both to
you & Mr Hawthorne.